


And It Is Surely to Their Credit

by ReaperWriter



Series: CS AU Week [5]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Captain Swan AU Week, F/M, Smut, West Wing AU, not a drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 11:13:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1896897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReaperWriter/pseuds/ReaperWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>President Mary Margaret Nolan's Press Secretary Emma Swan finds Killian Jones, the Deputy Communications Director, infuriating.  But when one crisis in the White House brings them closer together, will another rip them apart for good?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Celestial Navigation

**Author's Note:**

> So...this was supposed to be a drabble. It really was. And then...it wasn't one any more. Because my muse is, apparently, insane.
> 
> I tried to put enough elements of both shows in to make this an enjoyable AU. Comments and Kudos are always appreciated. 
> 
> Thank you to Adam and Eddy for the universe. It's a fun one to play in.

“Dammit, Jones!” Emma Swan yelled, stalking from her office across the communications bull pen. She strode straight past Will Smee, personal assistant to the Deputy Communications Director and slammed his office open.

Killian Jones laughed as the soft Nerf basketball he had just thrown hit her directly in the face. “Emma, love!”

“Don’t you ‘Emma, love’ me, you poor man’s excuse for a Cyrano.” She stalked over to his desk and thrust her tablet computer in his face. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

On the small, glowing screen was the TMZ headline, “Nolan Administration Lothario” over a shot of him, looking relaxed ( _read, drunk_ ) with his hair mussed and his tie undone, an arm around two very young women.

“Swan, that shot is entirely out of context,” he said, smoothly. “That was the victory party for Senator Sirene’s campaign. Ariel had just stepped away to talk to her chief of staff, and those two campaign volunteers asked for my picture. I don’t even know their nam…”

“Number 1, shut up.” Emma couldn’t understand how someone so brilliant could be so unbelievably dense. “Number 2, it doesn’t matter if you knew their names. Which by the way are Haley Spencer and Kirsti Caplan, ages 19 and 20. Number 3, it’s not 2000 anymore, Jones, social media and camera phones are everywhere. Number 4, it doesn’t matter what it is, it completely matters what it looks like.”

“Really, love…”

“Number 5, I said shut up. Do you understand that we are in an election cycle? That we have the privilege of serving the first woman president, who is amazing and capable as hell and is actually, for once, getting shit done, despite having a vice president who literally hates her?” She took a breath. “That in thirty minutes, I will be doing the 1PM briefing, where, instead of fielding questions about the new program we managed to pass that will put 10,000 highly qualified new teachers into classrooms across the country in the next three years, I will instead be doing damage control and defending us against accusations that we are the party and the presidency of the great, overactive libido?”

He had the good sense to stay quiet this time, contritely handing her tablet back to her. Emma looked at him, long and hard.

“You are brilliant, Killian. You are probably the best speech writer any administration has had in the last hundred years. Angels weep when she says your words.” Suddenly, she was just tired. “But my job is to go out there, in front of the ravening vultures of the press, and protect the President. And by extension, you. And I swear to god, if you can’t get it together and stop screwing up, I will ask Leroy to fire you. “

Then she turned and stormed out the door.

Killian sat there in silence for a good ten minutes, the draft of the remarks for the President’s Medal of Honor ceremony forgotten, until someone knocked on his door jam.

Looking up, he found David Nolan, first husband, standing there. “You look like shit, Killian.”

“Thank you, sir,” he replied. The man chuckled softly.

“You know, if Emma didn’t care, she’d have had you fired long before now.” He grabbed the Nerf basketball off the floor and tossed it back to him. “Come on. I’ve been dying for a game of hoops. Robin and Phillip and Anton are all in.”

“Is it really a hoops game, mate, if we’re playing the secret service? They’re going to slaughter us.”

“Better than no hoops at all.” David grinned widely at him. “Come on.”

****

Emma handled the 1PM briefing as she always did, with humor and a spine of iron. For the most part, the press accepted her spin on “Jones-gate” as she was thinking of it, though Sidney Glass of the Washington Mirror made it difficult. She had a private theory that he was in the back pocket of the Vice President, Regina Mills. She was finally able to turn the story around to the education bill, and used the appearance of two of the new teachers to shift the focus.

Leaving the press room, her assistant, Ruby, met her. “Nice job, boss,” she said, handing Emma a stack of briefing notes for the evening press call. “You have a 3PM with Belle French from Senator Gold’s office about the press for the non-partisan military luncheon next week. Senior Staff is at 4PM. At 5PM, Tally from Nordstrom is coming by so you can try on a dress for the gala on next Friday. I’ve carved you out time for a salad at 6PM, and full lid happens at the 7PM press briefing.”

“Thank, Ruby.” She headed back to her office, intent on grabbing a slim-fast, when her phone rang. Ruby grabbed it.

“Emma Swan’s phone. Right. Thanks, Granny,” she said. Hanging up, she turned to Emma. “The President wants to see you.”

Emma sighed. “Oh course she does.” Grabbing the can of slim-fast, she popped it and chugged as she walked through the West Wing to the Oval.

Mrs. Lucas, who everyone called Granny, smiled at her. “Go on in, dear, she’s waiting.” She reached up and plucked the empty can from Emma’s hand as she went by.

Opening the door, she stepped in as the President finished her phone call. “Thank you, Mr. Prime Minister. I look forward to speaking with you further about it next week. All my best to your family. Good bye, sir.”

Emma waited until she hung up. “Good afternoon, Madam President.”

Sitting behind the desk, Mary Margaret Nolan looked up, a beatific smile on her face. “Emma, thank you for coming so quickly. Please, sit.” She rose to join her on the couches in the middle of the room.

To the casual observer, she seemed an unlikely person to be leading the strongest power in the free world. However, Mary Margaret’s kind exterior hid a steel constitution. She had joined the JROTC in high school, at the urging of her career soldier father. She secured an appointment to West Point, where she had graduated as one of the most highly decorated cadets in her class. After commissioning, she trained as a helicopter pilot and served four tours of overseas duty, earning a purple heart for an injury she received in a combat zone.

Coming home, she had met David Nolan, a high school basketball coach, when she stepped in to prevent a mugging. They had married, and she entered law school, then politics, rising through the ranks in Massachusetts to be the youngest governor ever elected. She had entered the presidential race as a longshot, then surprised everyone when she not only beat Senator Regina Mills for the nomination, but offered her the Vice Presidential ticket. Their combined forces had gone on to beat Republican Senator Robert Gold.

Emma had met the Nolans as a kid, a foster child who ended up on the basketball team David was coaching. Her home life was pretty bleak, and David made a point of inviting her to dinners with the two of them and their son, Leo. When Emma aged out of the system in the middle of senior year, the Nolans had taken her in. Mary Margaret had stressed that she was far from worthless, and could do whatever she put her mind to. She had ended up going through Boston College on a full ride and then getting her Master’s degree in political communications at American University in DC.

She had initially resisted going back to work for Mary Margaret, since she didn’t want it to seem like nepotism, so she built a career in non-profits and congressional offices all over the Hill. Until the day David had called her and said Mary Margaret was making the hail Mary run for the White House and would she stand with them. She had given up a six figure salary and a condo in Georgetown and moved back to Boston to help run the campaign.

“So, Emma,” the President said, smiling. “How are you?” Of course, the downside to being close as family was that she often was treated like it.

“I’m good, ma’am.” She was tired and her blood was still up from dealing with Killian this morning, and, well. “What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to check in.” Mary Margaret seemed to be searching her face. “It’s only been a two years since Graham, and I feel like we haven’t done a good job of making sure you’re okay.”

Emma grimaced. Graham Humbert had been a Massachusetts state policeman and a friend of Emma’s from school. In the earliest days of the campaign, before the Secret Service was assigned, he had been on the then governor’s security detail and the two had been growing close to something resembling a relationship. Then, while out jogging early one morning, Graham had suffered an aortic dissection next to her and died in her arms.

The walls that she had felt lowering in those days had shot back up, and now Emma was somewhat notorious among the senior staff for having nothing resembling a social life.

“I’m fine, ma’am.” Emma smiled at her. “If you don’t need me for anything else, I have a meeting with Ms. French from Gold’s office in an hour.”

Mary Margaret smiled at her a little sadly. “Of course. And Emma, remember, just because we’re now here…” she paused to look around the office. “I’ll always be your friend, if you need one.”

“I know. Thank you, Madam President.” With that, she headed off to her next appointment.

****

The next morning, she walked into her office at 7:55, her hair still slightly damp from the gym, to find a bear claw sitting on a plate on her desk. She looked around, confused, since Ruby wasn’t due in this morning until 9.

Lifting the plate, she saw the note. “Swan, I am truly sorry. I’ll endeavor not to let it happen again. Very sincerely yours, KJ.”

She sighed hard and for just a moment, considered dumping the pastry in the trash. Killian Jones was by far the most infuriating part of her job. He had come on to the campaign staff right before the primary, the Irish immigrant kid who had talked his way into Brown and then Harvard Law school, who had chucked a golden career in corporate litigation to come work on Mary Margaret’s campaign, at the urgings of Jefferson, the deputy chief of staff he had roomed with at Brown.

He was truly brilliant, and infuriating, and had a reputation as a player a mile wide. More than once, he’d made a passing innuendo at Emma, a come on that had the equal effect of infuriating and arousing her, until she was hot and bothered and twisted up inside. But work was work; she was only likely to get this chance once in a lifetime, and she wasn’t about to screw it up. Then again, she also wasn’t going to waste perfectly good baked goods.

Emma pulled out her laptop and went to work on the position paper she was crafting between briefings, a pet project she shared with the President and the first husband, a proposal to bring more government oversight into the foster care system and provide the critical overhaul it needed. It was a long shot, she knew; foster kids weren’t a glamorous cause for legislators to hitch their star to. But it was hers. And she was going to nail it if it killed her.

****

The storms that had been threatening to batter the Eastern sea board for over a week had finally comes to bare two days later, with rain pounding against her window. Emma felt a vague sense of pressure against her head. There was a state dinner planned for that evening with the Prime Minister of Thailand, and she was working on the afternoon press briefing.

“Emma.” She looked up to see August, the White House communications director, standing in her doorway. “Do you know anything about a carrier group out of Norfolk?”

She tried to recall, and flipped through her notes from her meeting with Colonel Mulan, the President’s national security advisor. “Yeah, here it is. The Admiral in charge of the Norfolk base ordered them out to sea yesterday ahead of the storm, didn’t want them getting battered in port.”

Booth nodded. “Thanks. Killian was being really twitchy about it.” He turned and headed back across the bullpen.

Emma thought that was odd, but went back to work. As the day went on, the weather continued to worsen, and she was glad she had brought her dress for the event tonight, rather than trying to run back to her apartment.

A little before 6PM, she had slipped into the ice blue silk sheath dress and let Ruby help her pull her hair up into a pretty chignon. She was standing barefoot in front of the mirror in her office, putting in the opal studs the President and David had given her as a college graduation present when she heard an appreciative whistle.

Turning, she found Killian standing in her door in a tux. “You look bloody marvelous, Swan.”

“Thank you,” she said, securing the back of the second earring. “How did the President’s speech come out for tonight?”

“Well, I think. Fine line, these diplomatic events, but I think we kept it polite.” He smiled

“Oh, so you were a gentleman about it?” She bent over and pulled on her silver Jimmy Choos. She wasn’t extravagant in most of her life, but she spent a lot of time on her feet in heels.

“I’m always a gentleman, love.” Killian smiled at her. “Maybe someday, you’ll let me show it.”

“You’re incorrigible.” Emma grabbed her handbag. Stepping out of the office, she pulled the door shut, as Killian offered his arm. Sighing, she took it. They made their way out of the bullpen when he stopped suddenly, his eyes on one of the TV screens in the center, where CNN was covering the storm out of Norfolk and the carrier group. Emma saw Killian’s eyes darken for a moment before he shook himself, and led her on toward the State Dining room.

The dinner began at 7PM, with Emma at a table toward the back with Killian, August, Jefferson, Ruby, and Ella, Jefferson’s assistant. The President rose and made her short speech about the history and beauty of the Thai culture, and the value of the good relations shared with the United States. She had to admit, Killian had done it again. It was beautiful and moving and the Prime Minister and his wife looked very pleased.

Killian, however, had been more and more antsy as dinner went on, nursing his rum and coke from the cocktail hour and covertly checking his phone. His attention toward her from earlier had vanished. She shot a questioning look to Jefferson, who just shrugged.

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to find Leroy, the gruff White House chief of staff. “I need you back in the West Wing,” he said, in a low voice. “One at a time, and quietly. Ella, Ruby, I need you to stay put so it’s not as obvious.”

He walked away, and Emma looked at each of them, then picked up her purse and discreetly headed in the direction of the restroom. Once she was clear of the room, she slipped off her shoes and grabbed them, then hiked her dress and sprinted down the hall.

Reaching Leroy’s office, she said, “What happened?”

Leroy rubbed a hand over his face. “The storm they were worried about hitting Norfolk has gone into hurricane status and has turned out the sea.”

It took Emma a minute before the horror of it hit her. “Christ, the carrier group.”

“I need you to get the press back. Tink can help you make the calls. Do it quickly and quietly. I’ll have August and Killian work on drafting a statement.” Leroy sighed. “Mulan is working on trying to get a direct line to one of the ships. If she can get that up, we’ll get the president.”

She nodded and headed to the bullpen, grabbing Leroy’s assistant, Tink, and issuing orders. “I need you to use the paging system and call the press back, let them know we’ll have an emergency press conference in a few hours. Call down to the kitchens and ask them to start making sandwich boxes and getting drinks together.”

Ducking into her office, she unzipped the sheath and slid it off, pulling one of her fresh suits out of the closet and changing quickly.

She had just stepped back into the bullpen when she saw Killian storm into his office and slam the door. August was looking after him, a sad expression on his face. Seeing Emma, he waved her into his office. “I need you to help me with the statement,” he said softly. “Killian isn’t going to be any use to me tonight.”

“What’s the problem?” She looked at the wall separating their offices. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“How much do you know about Killian’s past?” August said, grabbing his laptop and loosening his tie. He nodded in the direction of her office, and she followed him back across, shutting her door behind them.

“Irish immigrant, came here at 9. Parents died shortly after. Full ride to Brown and then Harvard. Used to work for Skadden in New York.” She cleared a space at her desk and pulled up a spare chair for him. “Why?”

August sat down, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Killian had an older brother, about 10 years older. Liam. He joined the Navy when they came to the States. And was very, very good at it. He was the reason Killian didn’t end up in foster care when the parents died.”

“Had?” Emma felt a stone forming in her stomach.

“Do you remember the USS Godspeed?” August asked. Emma remembered it explicitly. The Godspeed was designed as a small incursion boat, meant to get close to shore undetected in order to drop off SEAL teams for missions. It had been hit by an RPG fired from a fishing boat off the coast of Iraq and went down, taking an entire SEAL team and all other hands with her.

“Fuck,” Emma said, glancing through the blinds in the window of her office toward the storm. She pulled up Google and typed ‘Godspeed Casualties’ into it. Clicking on a link to a memorial website, she looked at the profile of Chief Warrant Officer Liam Jones, USN SEAL.

The uniformed man starring back from the first picture was definitely a relative of Killian’s, with dark hair and the same sea blue eyes. Scrolling down, she read about his background, military commendations, and other awards. At the bottom were two pictures. One showed the white granite marker over Jones’s empty grave in Arlington. The other showed a younger Killian in a black suit, accepting the folded flag from a high ranking Naval Officer.

August seemed to know what she was looking at. “Killian was 20 when he died.”

She shook herself out of her revelry. “Come on. We need to draft a statement.”

An hour later, Emma discreetly stepped back into the dinner and spoke quietly to the President and Vice-President. Regina agreed to stay and finish the dinner, but Mary Margaret and David excused themselves and hurried to Leroy’s office, where Colonel Mulan had managed to get a radio link to one of the ships, a small refueling vessel called the USS Enchanted.

Mary Margaret set in front of the satellite phone hook-up, the rest of the senior staff around her. “USS Enchanted, this is President Nolan. Do you copy?”

“Yes Ma’am,” came an impossibly young voice. “We copy.”

“Who am I speaking to, sailor?” she asked, and Emma recognized the mom voice that the woman had used when Leo was young, and sometimes with Emma herself.

“Signalman 3rd Class Billy Hargus, ma’am.”

“How are you all doing, Billy?” Mary Margaret had reached over and taken David’s hand, squeezing it. Emma took a second and glanced over, seeing the raw pain in Killian’s eyes.  

“The seas have gotten really rough, Ma’am. We’ve had a couple of waves come over the bow, and the captain is worried,” the young man said. “We’re having trouble keeping the pumps running at this rate.”

“Billy, I am going to stay right here, as long as there’s a connection.” Emma watched her, saw the tears in her eyes, the anger and the helplessness. She had been an officer, and Emma knew she wished she could be there, physically. “I’m not leaving you all, do you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” There was a pause. “Ma’am. I’m really scared.”

Killian was out the door in a second. Mary Margaret looked at her and nodded, and Emma slipped out after him, hearing her say, “I know, Billy. It’s all right to be scared. Just hold on, and I’ll be right here with you.”

She caught up to him in his office, sitting on the couch and slamming his hand into a pillow over and over. She grabbed his hand to still it, then pulled him toward her. Killian wrapped himself around her as he broke down, and she found herself stroking his back softly as his tears soaked her suit.

He cried himself out an hour later, clearly exhausted, so she made him lay down on the couch, covering him with a blanket. Pulling over a chair, she sat near his head, stroking his hair until he was asleep. Looking up, she found Jefferson in the door way, tears in his eyes. He shook his head sadly, and Emma felt her stomach drop.

She moved quietly into the hall, pulling his door shut. Jefferson swiped at his own eyes. “We lost radio contact 15 minutes ago, and Naval fleet command says the ships is off radar.”

“How’s the President?” she asked, steeling herself. She was going to need to make a statement as soon as possible.

“She’s devastated, but she’s holding it together. You know how tough she is,” he said. He nodded toward the door. “How’s Killian?”

“Wrecked.” She pushed a hand through her hair, which had long since fallen out of the chignon. “I had no idea, about his brother.”

They moved quietly to her office, where she pulled a thing of face wipes and her makeup bag out of the drawer. Cleaning her own tear lines, she watched Jefferson drop onto the couch and pull his loose bow tie off. “He doesn’t talk about it. Liam was everything to him, he was even talking to a recruiter with the Navy about going to OCS when he graduated. Losing him sparked this two year period of…well.”

“What?” Emma said, turning to look at him. Jefferson ran a hand through his messy hair.

“I love him like a brother. He was there for me when Susannah…” He paused, and she knew he was thinking about his wife, who died in childbirth, leaving him with his daughter, Grace. “When Liam died, Killian lost his way. He started partying too much, he got into fights. If he wasn’t a favorite with one of his high ranking professors, he’d have been tossed out of Brown. And then there was Milah.”

Emma sensed he would continue, given a minute, so she focused on putting on fresh makeup.

“Milah was the wife of someone important and influential that he met volunteering at a fundraiser. I won’t say who.” She could hear the anger in Jefferson’s voice. “He had an affair with her, until she just broke it off one day. He was heartbroken. Then about two weeks later, she was driving with another man, who turned out to be high as a kite. They crashed, and she died. It was like Killian snapped out of it. Focused back on school, buckled down, rocked the LSAT. Harvard law, and here we are.”

Emma turned to look at him. “Why are you telling me this?”

Jefferson shook his head and scratched at his hair again. “Look, Emma, I was there when Graham died, and I know that did a number on you. I get that it’s hard for you to let people in. For the longest time, Killian was the same way; everything was casual with him, no strings.” She started to make a sound of protest, but he held a hand up, cutting her off. “Since he started working with you, the one night stands stopped. He flirts, sure, and sometimes he doesn’t think about how that comes off. But the way he is with you? The verbal sparring, the looks he gives you? That’s the Killian Jones I met the first day at Brown. All I’m saying is, be careful of him, okay?”

She couldn’t say anything to that, just nodded. Jefferson seemed to take that as an affirmative answer and left. Emma shook herself, and went to find the President.


	2. Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc

She walked out of the press briefing feeling like she had gone three rounds with Mike Tyson. Even with an assist from the Pentagon press liaison, the media had jumped on the fact that someone in the military chain of command had sent the fleet out, and despite the fact that it was standard protocol in these situations based on the information available at the time; they seemed to want to lay it at the President’s door.

She walked back into her office and glanced at the clock, seeing that it was after 1AM. She pulled up her calendar to the morning and sent emails to her first three appointments, cancelling and asking to reschedule. She needed sleep like air at this point.

Grabbing her purse and coat, she crossed the bullpen and pushed open Killian’s door. He was still on the couch, and was thrashing a little in his sleep. It only took her a minute to make the decision. She walked softly to him and leaned down.

“Killian,” she said. She shook him slightly, and he jerked awake, blinking at her. “Come on.”

“Swan?” he asked, groggily. “Where…?”

“You’re at the office.” She stood and grabbed his coat and his laptop case. “Come on, you’re coming home with me. You don’t need to be alone tonight.”

Something in her voice must have told him, because his face fell, and the light in his eyes dimmed. Emma helped him up and made him shrug on his coat over his tux. Reaching into the small wardrobe near his desk, she grabbed one of his clean garment bags that she knew held a change of clothes.

She led him out of the building, stopping to have the night porter call them a cab, and then led him down to the gate. Climbing into the waiting taxi, they were silent all the way to her place. She unlocked the door and led him inside, flipping on the hall light. “Bathroom is down on the left. There a spare new toothbrush in the vanity. I’ll find you something to put on.”

She moved to her bedroom and hung his suit up on the back of her closet door, then opened it and rummaged around at the back. She found the pair of sweats in the black overnight bag she hadn’t been able to bear throwing out, Mass State Police printed on them. They were close enough to the same size, they would do. She folded them gently, and then set them on the floor next to the bathroom, knocking once softly.

Pulling on her own pajamas, she went to the kitchen and grabbed two glasses of water, putting one on either side of her bed, then turned the sheets down.

Killian came into the room, and her heart clenched a little to actually see him in the grey and black jersey material. He must have seen her face, because he said, “I could take the couch.”

She shook her head. “No, its fine. You get the left side. Use your phone and cancel your morning. I’m not going in until 10AM tomorrow.”

She stepped into the bathroom, running water to cover the sound of the soft sob that escaped her. It was over in a minute or two, and she washed her face and brushed her teeth quickly, the dried with a towel.

Killian was lying on his side of the bed when she came back. “You know, Swan, if I had known emotional vulnerability was the key to getting into bed with you, I would have cried sooner.”

He was trying for a joke, she could tell, but his heart wasn’t in it. “Shut up, Jones.” She switched off the overhead, and then crawled into her side of the bed. “Good night.”

“Good night, Emma.” She had never heard him sound so young. “Thank you.”

****

She awoke to someone pressed into her back and an arm wrapped around her waist. It was disorienting as hell, because it had been at least two years…fuck, goddammit. His breathing was even and soft, and she could just smell his cologne, something like bay rum, and her body fought the urge to relax while her mind screamed at her to run.

Moving carefully, she slipped out of bed, and went to the restroom, then towards the kitchen. It was still only 6:30, and she wished she could sleep in, but two years of early mornings had done a number on her internal clock. She started her coffee pot and pull a couple of frozen breakfast sandwiches out of the freezer, sticking on in the fridge to defrost.

After fifteen minutes, she heard shuffling around from the bedroom, and a few minutes later, water running from the bathroom. She went ahead and put the other sandwich on a plate and stuck it in the microwave, heating it. A minute or two later, Killian walked into the so-called great room.

“Morning,” she said, putting the sandwich and the coffee down in front of him.

“It definitely is,” he said, nodding to her. “Thank you. I apologize for yesterday. It wasn’t good form.”

She considered for a moment, and found herself chewing on her thumb like she did as a kid. Finally, she said, softly, “August told me. About Liam.”

Something flashed in his eyes, then was gone, replaced for a guarded expression. “It was a long time ago, Swan.”

“Some things don’t get easier.” She finished her coffee. “I’m gonna grab a quick shower and get dressed. I’ll leave you warm water.” Then she walked away, trying to quell the still small spark of something in her heart.

****

It wasn’t a better day when they finally got into the office. Leroy was in a foul mood, and Emma found herself on the brunt end because the press was still playing the blame game over the Enchanted and her crew. Then she spilled coffee all over her favorite grey silk blouse. Her burger at lunch was undercooked and when she sent it back, it came out a charcoal briquette.

“Christ, this day,” she muttered when Ruby stuck her head in.

“Um, Emma, there’s someone here to see you, but he doesn’t have an appointment.” Ruby looked concerned, and then squeaked when someone pushed past her into Emma’s line of sight.

“I don’t need an appointment,” the man said, smirking. “Emma’s always got time for me.”

She bristled and felt her left hand clench. “What do you want, Neal?”

“Now, Ems, is that anyway to talk to your ex-husband?” Behind him, she could see Ruby’s mouth drop. Great.

“Ruby, can you leave us? Shut the door.” The woman went, and Emma faced her biggest mistake. “I’ll ask again, Neal, what do you want?”

Neal Cassidy Gold folded himself into one of the chairs across the desk from her. “I’m here to woo you, dearest.”

“I swear to god, Neal…”

“Easy, Ems,” he chuckled. “I’m finally going into the family business, and I am looking for a campaign manager. I figured why not come to the best?”

Emma’s mouth gaped open at him. “Oh, I don’t know, Neal. We could start with the fact that we aren’t in the same political party. Then let’s add that I can’t stand your father and what your family stands for. Or that you and I haven’t agreed on anything in years.” She felt her anger build. “Or, we could skip all that and just go with you leaving me for someone else all those years ago. How is Cindy?”

“It didn’t work out,” he said. “Come on, Emma. Why be someone’s press bitch when you could be a big dog? It would be like old times.”

“Because Mary Margaret Nolan is more real then you’ll ever be, and I love my job.” Before she could get another word out, her door popped open.

“Swan, I need a second pair of…” Killian stopped speaking when he laid eyes on her guest. “Sorry, didn’t know you were in a meeting. Ruby stepped away.”

“Mr. Gold was just leaving,” she said, firmly.

Neal took the hint, standing in that lazy way he always had, and pulling a card out of his wallet. He held it out to her, but she just stared at him. He shrugged and dropped it on her desk. “Call me if you change your mind, babe.”

She saw Killian bristle slightly as Neal pushed past him and out of the office. She took a deep breath and realized her hands were shaking violently. Killian had noticed that too.

“All right, love?” he asked. She couldn’t answer for a minute, just staring at her desk.

Finally, she said. “Yeah, I will be. What’s up?”

He looked at her like he didn’t quite believe her, but he wasn’t ready to push. “Can you take a read and see what you think? It’s the speech for the American Press Freedom gala.”

“Sure,” she said. “Give me an hour, and I’ll get it back to you.” Jones nodded, and seemed to want to say something else. Instead, he just gave her a soft smile, and slipped out as Ruby returned.

“Ruby,” she said. The woman stuck her head in, and Emma grabbed the business card like it was a poisonous snake. “Find out how he got past security and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Can do, boss,” Ruby said, taking the card and heading back to her desk.

Emma took another couple of deep breathes, and then grabbed the papers Killian left her with and settled in to read.

****

At 8PM, she was just done. She had called a full lid for the weekend an hour ago, and then stayed to answer some emails. Now she felt crispy and tired, and thank God it was Friday. She was going to try working from home the next day on the position paper, with a break to run by Nordstrom’s and look at more dresses for the gala next week.

She had just shut down her computer when a shadow fell across the door. She looked up to find Killian standing there. “Hey, Jones,” she said.

“Done for the day, lass?” he asked. She nodded at him, shoving the laptop into the protective sleeve of her briefcase. “Good. Let me buy you dinner.”

She sighed a little. “Killian…”

“No pressure, no expectations, love.” He smiled at her and her heart gave a little tug as Jefferson’s words about being careful with him crossed her mind. “I just want to thank you, for yesterday. Please.”

“Okay.” She saw the surprise and the pleasure light up his eyes.

****

The cab took them to Arlington, stopping in front of a building that looks like it was picked up in Galway and set down on a random street. Killian led her inside, greeting the barman with a wave. “Evening, Sean.”

“Killian!” The man stepped out from behind the bar, clapping him on the back. “I’ve got a table for you right through here, mate.”

“Sean, this is Emma,” he said. “Emma, this is Sean O’Halloran.”

“A pleasure, Miss Emma,” the barkeep said. He showed them a small table in the corner with menus waiting on it and grabbed the reserved sign. “Pammy will be right with you.”

Killian pulled her chair out for her, and then sat as the waitress came over and took their drink orders, a Murphy’s stout for him and a Magnar’s hard cider for her.

“So,” she asked. “How long were you in DC before you found this place?” Killian laughed as Pammy brought their drinks, a rich full sound she remembered more from the campaign’s later days when they were all punch drunk tired and in high spirits. She ordered the lamb stew and he got a chicken boxty, then Pammy left them.

“I actually found it before I joined the campaign. I was in town for a business meeting for Skadden and stopped to see an old friend from when I was little who works at the Irish Embassy. He brought me.” He took a drink of his beer. “I’m in usually one night a week for the live music, if I can.”

Emma sipped her own glass, looking appreciably around the pub, with its dark oak interiors and solid furniture. “It’s great. Reminds me of this place I used to drink at in college in Boston.”

“The Greenbriar?” He took another sip of his drink as her face lit up with an astonished grin.

“How?” she asked. It was one Irish pub in one of the most Irish cities in North America.

“Old home word of mouth network, love.” He raised his glass to her. “May the saddest day of your future be no worse than the happiest day of your past.”

Emma felt a wistful smile cross her face. “I’ll drink to that.”

Pammy brought their entrees out and they ate in silence for a little while, savoring the food. She hadn’t spent this much time alone with someone in a long time, and it felt much more comfortable than she remembered.

After they ordered another round, Killian looked at her for a long moment. “So, may I ask a personal question, lass?”

Emma sighed, knowing what it was likely to be. Better to get it out of the way now. “Yes, he was exactly who you thought he was,” she said, looking away and playing with a packet of sugar from holder on the table. “We have ancient history with each other.”

He raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her. “What kind of history could you have with Robert Gold’s son?”

“The formerly married to him kind.” She glanced up and found his mouth hanging open. Christ. Her eyes darted back down. “Look, he was going by Neal Cassidy when I knew him. He was funny and charming and completely not into politics, which was refreshing. I was young and stupid, and I thought he was in love with me too, so I married him. Two years later, right as we were getting ready to move to DC so I could go to grad school, he left a note on our bed saying he’d met someone else and he’s done. Didn’t even show up for the divorce hearing, just sent his father’s embarrassingly expensive lawyer.”

He was dead quiet, and Emma felt like she might throw up. She squeezed her eyes shut as tears prickled in their corners.

“Swan. Emma.” His voice was soft, and his accent was thick and against her will, she looked up at him. His eyes bore into hers, and an emotion she was terrified to define stared out at her. “He was a fool and a coward, if he threw you away.”

She couldn’t stop herself, in that moment. “Everyone does. Except the Nolans. And Graham.” His gaze looked confused, and she sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I was abandoned on the side of the road as a baby. I was adopted by the Swans, who kept me until I was four, and then got pregnant. They didn’t need me anymore, so they sent me back. And then every foster home I ever landed in did the same. The Nolans took me in when I had nowhere to go, and they gave me a home.”

Killian looked so sad for her. God, this wasn’t how she expected tonight to go. “And Graham?”

“Graham…” Her voice broke and she waited, taking a long drink of cider. “Graham knew me in high school, and we reconnected when he was doing security for Mary…for the President at the start of the campaign. He was State Police. He was also the first guy I let get close after…well. You’d have liked him, he moved from Ireland as a kid too. Accent and all. But he left in the end too. He had this heart…thing, and we were jogging and…nothing to be done.”

“Oh, Emma.” His hand was across the table and on hers and it was too much. Way too much.

“I need to use the restroom,” she said, standing up abruptly. She left her purse and briefcase at the table, and walked quickly to the hall near the bar. Stepping inside the women’s room, she leaned her head against the wall, and forced her breathing to calm down. She didn’t let the lost girl out that often, but knowing Killian’s history, his parents and then his brother, and whoever Milah was…she had wanted to tell him. She had recognized something in him that night as she held him on his office couch, and for the first time, she felt like someone saw her.

Splashing some water on her face, she walked back out to the table. Killian was looking at his beer like it held the answer to all life’s questions, but when he heard her and looked up, she saw relief on his face. “I didn’t mean to push, Swan. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Looking at the time, she felt herself yawn. “Is it all right if we wrap this up? I need to get home.”

He nodded, and they finished their drinks while he signaled Pammy for the check. “I’d like to bring you back sometime for the music. If you liked The Greenbriar, you’ll love live music night here.”

“Sure,” Emma said, grabbing her things. He led her outside and hailed a cab, insisting on seeing her home. Fifteen minutes later, the taxi idled at her curb as he walked her to the door.

“Thank you again for last night, lass,” he said, softly. “I appreciate it.”

“Thank you for dinner, Killian.” She smiled at him, softly. “I had a nice night.”

The stared at each other for a long moment, then he leaned over and kissed her check. “Good night, love.” Turning, he made his way down the walk back to the cab.

Emma headed inside, dropping her bags on her sofa and checking her phone. No messages. Soon, she had washed up and changed, sliding into bed.

As she lay there, facing the empty left half, a hint of bay rum lingering on the pillow drifted over her. She hadn’t felt this lonely in years.


	3. What Kind of Day Has It Been

The next week went by in a blur. The USS Enchanted was officially declared lost with all hands, and almost an entire day was spent with the President making condolence calls. She noted Killian spent most of the day with his door closed, so she stopped by at one point with coffee and one of the brownies he liked from the commissary.

She had finally found a dress that she liked for the gala on Friday, vibrant red, which was unlike her, with beading at the sweetheart collar and a full skirt. On Thursday, Killian stopped by her door, seeming nervous as she was going over the briefing for the last press call of the day.

“Swan, I was wondering. Are you bringing anyone to this thing tomorrow?” He fidgeted in the doorway when she looked up at him over her glasses. Her contacts were acting up and she didn’t feel like fighting them today.

“Who would I bring?” she asked, tired and a little cranky.

“Well, I just thought if you were going solo and I was going solo, maybe we could go as a duo?” His voice was hopeful, and a little scared, and she looked at him, really looked at him.

“You know we’ll be working the whole time, right?” He seemed to deflate.

“Right, yeah. Never mind, then, love.” And he turned and started to walk away. And her heart plunged. Shit, shit, shit.

“Killian?” she called from the door. He turned back. “Okay.”

“Yeah, Swan?” He looked so…young for a moment, grinning at her like a fool.

“Yeah. Okay.” She smiled at him, surprised at how her breath caught at the sparkle in his eyes.

“Tomorrow evening, then, love.” He turned and headed back to his office, whistling a happy tune.

****

Senior staff were riding in the motorcade, so Killian ‘picked her up’ at her office at 5:30. He was wearing his tux, which she thought fit him especially well. She wondered if it had been a hold-over from the days when he was working with a Skadden salary. But the look on his face when she stepped out her office was more than worth the inconvenience of the corset top on her gown.

“Bloody hell, Swan,” he said, whistling softly. Her hair was swept up and pinned, held in place by a rhinestone headband, and she held a small red wristlet in her hand. “You’re a vision, love.”

“You clean up pretty well yourself, Jones,” she said, taking his arm and letting him lead her out to where everyone was gathering.

The President looked up as they walked into the portico. “Emma, you look lovely.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.” She smiled at how she and David’s eyes widened when they saw her arm through Killian’s. She was definitely going to be called in for a chat later.

The ride to the Newseum was short, and they walked the rope line fairly quickly, Mary-Margaret and David and Regina Mills all shaking hands with people and smiling for pictures. She glanced back at Robin, the head of Regina’s detail, and Phillip and Anton, who ran the first family team, walking close by and watching everything.

They entered to the now familiar strains of “Hail to the Chief”, and the senior staff dispersed. Emma went over to greet the more senior members of the press, while August and Killian went to make sure the teleprompter was working.

Before long, Mary Margaret was at the podium, and she was standing at the back, next to Killian, watching as she gave an impassioned speech about the first amendment and the freedom of the press, how it had shaped the nation and served as the soul of the national consciousness. It was perhaps one of the best Killian had ever done, and she snuck a glance at his face, glowing with pride. Her chest ached again with that feeling, and it was terrifying to think about, but she took a quiet deep breath and slipped her hand down into his, lacing their fingers.

Killian glance over at her in surprise, but she kept her eyes forward, a small smile on her lips. A second later, and he gently squeezed her hand.

There was dinner, which was surprisingly good (it was never a guarantee outside of the White House with private catering in play). And then there was dancing. She had been surprised when Killian had sidled up to her as she was talking to the International News Anchor for MSNBC.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said, politely. “I wondered if I might steal Miss Swan for a waltz?” The older man was clearly charmed by the good manners and smiled, waving a hand towards the floor.

“Um, Jones,” she said. “My skill set doesn’t extend to waltzing.”

“There’s only one rule,” he said, smiling at her mischievously. “Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.” Taking her hand, he led her onto the floor and drew her into his arms.

She let him lead, falling surprisingly easily into his rhythm. She noticed mirth in his eyes. “Are you mocking me, Jones?” she asked, leaning in close.

“Never,” he said, taking her into an unexpected spin that made her honest to Jesus giggle. “What I was thinking, your highness, is that you’re a natural.”

And the joy that bubbled up in her chest surprised her, because she hadn’t felt anything like it since the night in Boston when they announced the general election results two years ago. And she remembered suddenly how she had been standing next to him, and they had called the election for Nolan and Mills, and suddenly she had been in his arms, hugging and jumping up and down and laughing so hard they had cried.

It had been an electric moment, and then it was gone and they were digging out the victory speech and staging the room, and she was writing the first press briefing and he was sequestered with August to look at media strategy for the transition, and time had marched on.

Now, two years on, she could see all the little moments, when they had sat in the communications conference room with take-out Chinese and argued points of policy. When he had done something juvenile and silly to break up the monotony of long plane rides and she had pretended to be put out, but secretly she laughed every time. How he seemed to know when she was angry or sad or depressed, and she would find something random on her desk (because seriously, she has an office gold fish because of him…she totally meant she liked the crackers).

How the hell had she not seen it until now? Why had it taken Jefferson telling her for her to really notice how his eyes tracked her in a room, and his smile brightened when she was kind to him and darkened when she was angry at him? And when had she started doing the same, looking for him? _Because you weren’t ready before_ the little voice in the back of her mind said.

“Penny for your thoughts, love,” he said. She realized any number of songs had come and gone and she hadn’t lost a step, her body syncing with his easily. Across the room, she could see the President and David dancing with each other, Mary Margaret looking natural in his arms. She caught David’s eye and saw him smile softly at her.

“Killian, can we talk tonight? When we get back to the West Wing?” She could see slight confusion on his face, and she squeezed his hand, smiling softly. “Please.”

“As you wish,” he said, smiling. Just then, Leroy walked up to them.

“The President is getting tired, and Leo is supposed to get in early at Andrews tomorrow for his leave. Meet at the door in five, and we’ll roll out.” Even their boss, noted for being grumpy ninety percent of the time, seemed to be in a really good mood tonight.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Jones said, grinning. Leroy rolled his eyes and headed off to round up everyone else. They held on for a minute longer, then headed over to their table to grab her wrap and handbag and his coat.

The doors opened onto the cool night air, and she found herself shivering a little. They were walking a few feet behind the President and David, Regina out front with Robin at her side, and Killian seemed to be pausing to shrug out of the cashmere overcoat. And then everything went to hell.

“GUN!” Robin yelled, and it seemed like there was no pause before the first shot rang out. In the pandemonium, she felt Killian grab her and shove her down, his body blocking hers. BWAP, BWAP, BWAP, BWAP, BWAP, BWAP…the noise kept coming, mixing with the screaming and the shouting, the squealing of tires as two of the motorcade SUVs tore out of the line. Someone slammed into them and they were thrown apart

And then, for just a minute, silence. The screaming seemed to pause as the gunfire stopped. Then it was replaced with yelling and sirens, and Anton was kneeling in front of her, his big hands patting down her front.

“Where are you hit?” he yelled, and Emma couldn’t process it because she felt bruised and scraped and she was going to hurt like hell tomorrow, but she hadn’t felt shot. A person would surely know if they were shot, right?

“I’m not, Anton,” she said, gasping for air. “Where’s the President? Where are David and Mary Margaret?”

He paused, tilting his head like a dog as information came over the ear bud he was wearing. “Snow White and Prince Charming are in bound to the White House. So’s Queenie.”

And Emma breathed a sigh of relief, because that meant they were all three safe. Then Anton’s face changed, and he muttered “Fuck.”

“What? WHAT?!” She reached out and grabbed his hand. He looked at her, fear in his eyes.

“Snow’s hit, they’re all rerouting to George Washington Medical.” Anton let go of her. “I need to check on people.”

“How bad. Anton, how bad?” She stood, one heel of her shoe snapping and she kicked it off violently.

“I don’t know, Emma.” The big man pulled away and headed toward a group of crying college students on the rope line. Christ, every journalism student in the city had been here.

She turned to look for familiar blue eyes, but she didn’t see him. She glanced around and saw August helping Leroy up off the ground, and Jefferson looking around, dazed. Where the hell was Killian?

Then she saw a pair of feet sticking out from the side of a large planter about ten feet away. He had probably been knocked about as badly as her and was winded. She walked quickly over to him. “Killian, get up, we need to go. Mary Margaret’s been shot.”

Then she saw him. The front of his white silk tuxedo shirt was turning a violent crimson, the same color as her dress, his hand pressed a little below his heart. A rictus of pain marred his handsome face and he was breathing in fits and starts.

“No,” she whispered, and then she was down next to him, her left hand pressing hard over his, her right reaching behind him. No exit wound. That was bad. She had briefed enough crime statistics and troop casualties to know that was really bad. “Killian? Jones?”

His blue eyes found hers, and then he smiled. He goddamn smiled. “You’re…safe.” It came out barely a whisper, and then he coughed. Little bubbles of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. She could feel panic welling in her.

“Hang on,” she said. Then she turned. “HELP! I NEED HELP!” Hers was one voice in a hundred yelling, many of them yelling help.

“Emma…need to…tell you…”

“Don’t you dare, Killian Jones.” She brought her hand up, wiping the blood from his lips. “You are not goddamn dying on me, do you understand?” She turned, searching, then found who she needed.

“JEFFERSON!” Her voice carried, and he turned to see her, then hurried over.

“Oh, fuck,” he said. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“We need an ambulance, Jefferson.” She grabbed his face with her free hand, yanking him to look at her. “Go get an ambulance.” He snapped to and got up, sprinting towards the nearest Secret Service agent. She turned back to Killian, who was looking far, far too pale.

“Sorry, love…” Another cough wracked his body, and she felt more blood pool under her hand. “I…tired..love…you.”

“You stay awake, Killian.” She felt the tears now, trailing down her face. “Please. I can’t lose you. Not like this. I…Killian, please.”

Suddenly, there was a paramedic pulling her away, and she was shaking as they hurriedly rolled him onto a board. “GSW to the lower chest, blood pressure is bottoming out, pulse erratic. We need to go now.” One of them was packing the wound with something, then they had him on a gurney and rolling.

She started to follow when Leroy grabbed her arm. “No, Emma, I need you.”

“Like hell!” She yanked away from him, but he grabbed her and shook her.

“EMMA!” She paused. He looked over. “Jefferson, go with him, try to get them to GW.” The man took off after the crew, hopping into the ambulance as the doors were closing. “Emma, the President has been shot. I need you with me. I’ve called Tink and Ruby, they’ll meet us with clean clothes. You’ll have to brief the press. Can you do it?”

She had looked down when he said clean clothes, and saw that there was a second, darker red marring the silk. Oh, Jesus, no, no, no… She turned, and leaned over the planter, throwing up violently. When she finished, she turned to find August holding out a handkerchief and a bottle of water. She took them, wiping her face clean, and then swishing her mouth out and spitting.

“Yeah,” she croaked. Then she paused, and tried again. “Yes. I can do it.”

Leroy nodded at her, and then waved to Anton, who ushered the three of them into a waiting SUV.

****

When Graham had died, work was the only thing she could do. Now that it was happening all over again, she threw that same wall up, and fell back on the familiar. Her phone had survived the tumult and she got on it with Ruby. “I need you to call the head of communication at GW and have them lock down all information until they coordinate with us. Have them set up their briefing room, but no one gets in without our credentials.” She saw August staring at the stain on her gown, and she shot him a hard look until he averted his eyes. “I need a full change of clothes, skin out. Two. One black, one grey. Shoes, make up, and my travel toiletries. Tell GW I need access to a shower.”

Ruby’s voice shook as she repeated her orders, then hung up. She looked at Leroy, who looked like he had aged twenty years in the last hour. “What the hell happened, Leroy?”

“Anton,” he called. “Brief the lady.”

Anton, his own suit flecked with blood, looked exhausted. Adrenaline crash, she supposed. “We had one spotter, two shooters. The shooters are both dead. We’ve ID’d them as Tamara Stuben and Greg Mendell. Both have jackets for far right wing militia activities. Greg was a suspect in the bombing of an immigrant rights office in Dallas a few years ago. We believe, based on intel, they were a couple. The spotter is in the wind. We have a description from Robin, and we’re coming through cell phone footage looking for a picture.”

“Casualties?” Her voice was cold as ice, and August was staring at her again, like he couldn’t quite believe it.

“The President took a through and through to the abdomen. She’s stable and awaiting surgery. They feel they can hold her until we arrive.” He paused and looked at her, and she starred back, her eyes utterly resolute. “Killian Jones took a bullet to the lower left chest and is critical. They took him straight back for surgery, and they know for sure he’s got a collapsed lung. Prognosis isn’t known.”

She nodded, and caught August grimacing. “Stop it, Booth. Anton, who else.”

“We have three dead civilians.” The big man paused and swallowed, and she wondered how someone as empathetic as him ever ended up in law enforcement. “IDs are tentative. Cyrus Foster, 23, journalism grad student at Georgetown, according to his id. He was shot in the head and was dead on scene. Mallory Putnam, 19, political science major at American. She was from Indiana, according to her driver’s license. Shot in the chest, it appears her heart was nicked. She died in the ambulance. Andy MacDonald, 21, journalism undergrad at Howard. He…he was trampled to death.”

“Jesus Christ,” Leroy said, running his hand over his head.

“Okay. We’ll confirm that there were fatalities, but we’ll hold IDs pending official notification of the families. Leroy, we need to know who Killian’s…who to…”

“It’s Jefferson,” the older man said. “He knows.”

“Okay. We will get information on him and the President. And I need to know if I can release the shooters’ names. And the spotter. If we don’t have a picture in the next hour, someone needs to get Robin doing a sketch.” The SUV pulled to a stop in an underground parking garage. Emma grabbed her bag and got out, following Leroy.

Suddenly, August grabbed her arm. “Emma, you don’t have to do this. We can get Regina’s press secretary.”

She shook him off. “August, if I don’t work right now, I will lose my fucking mind. Either help me, or get out of my way.”

Then she hurried to catch up to Leroy and face the gathering storm.


	4. In the Shadow of the Gunmen

A nurse had immediately grabbed Emma and handed her scrubs to wear while she waited on her clothes. When she couldn’t get the zipper down, she looked at her helper. “Cut it off.” The nurse nodded and popped out, coming back with sheers. The ruined silk fell to the floor, and Emma quickly pulled on the blue scrubs, then the booties. Hurrying out, she pulled her White House ID on over her head.

Phillip saw her coming and ushered her into one of the emergency bays. On the bed, Mary Margaret looked pale and sweat was beading her head, while David stood next to her and clung to her hand. Leroy and Regina stood at the foot of the bed, arguing loudly.

“She needs to sign it before she goes under, you mealy mouthed dwarf!” Regina shouted.

“I am not about to let you make a power grab out of this, you old witch.” Leroy said, putting himself between her and the bed.

Regina looked like she wanted to slap him. “It’s not a fucking coup! We just have to be sure someone is in charge in case something comes up before she gets out. I took the same damn oath of service as all of you, and it’s time you goddamn act like it.”

“HEY!” Emma said, loudly. They stopped and looked at her. “What the hell?”

“She wants the President to sign a memo ceding power to her.” Leroy growled.

“For the duration of the surgery and post-op anesthesia. As soon as the doctor clears her, it reverts,” Regina hissed back, waving a paper. Emma reached forward and grabbed it.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret said. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” she said, reading the memo. Then she handed it to the woman who was like a mother to her. “This is your call.”

Mary Margaret read through it quickly. “Leroy, give me a pen.”

“Ma’am,” he said, startled.

“Regina and I may not agree on much,” she said, looking at the other woman meaningfully. “But we both love this country, and we have a sworn duty to protect and uphold the constitution and laws. She needs authority to act in case something comes up. This is easier than her having to convene the cabinet. Now, please give me a pen, so I can get this damn hole sewn up.”

Emma opened her own clutch and pulled out a pen, handing it to her. Mary Margaret signed, then handed it to Emma and a nurse in the room to witness. “Thank you, Madam President,” Regina said.

“Thank you, Madam President,” Mary Margaret said back, smiling softly. She turned to Emma and held out her free hand. “Can you make sure someone alerts Leo?”

“Already done,” Emma said. She looked at the older doctor and nurses who were waiting. “You need to go, M.”

“The others,” Mary Margaret asked, squeezing her hand. “Everyone’s okay?”

She caught Leroy’s subtle head tilt. Right then. “Everyone’s fine, Ma’am. Now get going. Fast in, fast out.”

David kissed his wife, and then the nurses stepped in to wheel her out. She stood with David and watched her go, then the man’s arms were around her, hugging her tight.

“What the hell is wrong with the world, Emma?” he asked. She shook her head, and squeezed him back. When they pulled apart, he looked at her carefully. “She’ll be upset later that you lied to her.”

“I know,” Emma whispered.

“Who is it?” David could always tell when she was hiding something. Probably had to do with all his years coaching.

“Killian.” She felt the tears she had been suppressing try to well up when he gasped. “It’s really bad, David. Really, really bad.”

“Hey, kid,” he said, and she feels like the scared sixteen year old whose coach noticed the bruises not explained by sports. “Killian’s a tough guy. And the doctors here, they’re the best in the city. It’s not going to be like…”

“I know.” She didn’t know any such thing. “Mary Margaret is going to be fine. She’s tough as nails.”

He nodded and hugged her again. “You need to go do your thing.”

“Yeah,” she said, and turned to see Ruby, looking terrified peering through the window. Time to go to work.

Twenty minutes later, she was dressed in a grey suit with a soft green silk shell, her hair up in a bun, glasses on. She had commandeered a nurses locker room, and after a shower that wasn’t nearly long enough, she had made Ruby drag Regina, Leroy, Jefferson, and August in with her, back to her as she dressed, crafting the official press statement. Ruby had typed it up and found somewhere to print it off and then ran copies to distribute at the briefing. One of the nurses had come up to her with a red, white, and blue ribbon cluster with a pin, and she had put it on. Then she had kicked them all out, and stood, looking in the mirror.

“You can do this. Mary Margaret is counting on you. Killian would be offended if you didn’t. Suck it up, Swan.”

Then she turned and walked out the door and down the hall, then rode the elevator up three floors to the press room. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door, and the room erupted in flash bulbs and a pandemonium of voices. “Emma! Emma, what can you tell us! Emma!”

“QUIET!” She took her place at the podium. “I have an official statement, and I will not take questions until I have finished. If you try to force the issue, you will be escorted out and your credentials revoked. Do I make myself clear?”

The room went quiet but for the click of cameras and the whir of recorders.

“At approximately 10:28 tonight, two individuals with the assistance of a third person spotting on the ground opened fire on President Mary Margaret Nolan and her motorcade as they exited the Newseum in Rosslyn, Virginia, where they had attended the American Press Freedom gala. President Nolan was hit by one bullet and was wounded. She was brought to this hospital in stable condition, and is currently in surgery. She is expected to make a full recovery. Before entering surgery, she signed an executive memo conceding power to Vice President Regina Mills for the duration of her surgery and recovery from anesthesia. Acting President Mills will make remarks at the end of this briefing.”

Emma paused for a second, holding her hand up to prevent questions. “In addition to President Nolan, Deputy Communications Director Killian Jones was wounded and is currently in surgery in critical condition. We will update his condition as information becomes available.” She took a sip of her glass of water. “Three spectators on the rope line were killed. We will not release information on those individuals until their identities are formally established and their next of kin notified. Also killed were the two shooters, who were shot by Secret Service agents and who have been positively identified as Tamara Stuben and Greg Mendell. Stuben and Mendell have records of activities with groups identified by the FBI as domestic terrorist organizations. FBI Agent Marco Giuseppe will be speaking at a briefing in two hours’ time with more information on the shooters and the spotter who hasn’t been apprehended.”

She took a breath and paused. “Acting President Mills will now speak, and then I will take questions.” She nodded at Regina, who walked up to the podium as Emma stepped back to make room.

“Good morning,” she said, glancing at the clock that read 1 AM. “The events of this evening were an attack not just on President Nolan and those of us traveling with her, but upon our country as a whole. We ask for your prayers tonight for the recovery of President Nolan and Killian Jones, for the family and friends of those innocent bystanders who lost their lives, and for the law enforcement officers now working around the clock to apprehend the third suspect. We wish to express our gratitude to the Secret Service agents and city police who acted quickly at the scene to prevent further deaths and take care of the wounded. And to the third subject and those who may have support him and the shooters, I say this: this was an act of terrorism, and America does not bend before terrorists. There is no den, no hole where you can hide. We are coming for you, and we will bring the full weight of American justice to bare upon you. Thank you.”

Regina quickly stepped away as Robin moved to escort her out. Emma stepped back to the podium as the room erupted in calls again. “Sidney,” she called, pointing.

“Emma, the President has traditionally entered and exited these events under a canopy. Why the change tonight?” Sidney asked.

“We don’t comment on protocol relating to Presidential security. Next question, Sharon.” She said.

“But Emma,” Sidney yelled.

“I said no, Sidney,” Emma replied. “Next question, Sharon.”

****

She left the briefing room and headed to the waiting area that had been secured for the staff. In the time she was gone, David, Leroy, Jefferson, August, and Ruby had been joined by Jefferson’s nanny Johanna and a sleeping Grace, Tink, Will Smee, and even Granny, who is knitting like a fiend. Emma looked at the chairs, and thought that if she sat down, she wouldn’t be able to get up. Ruby, who had anticipated her needs, pointed to the pair of trainers next to her bags. Emma gratefully toed off her pumps and slid them on.

“I am going to run up to the cafeteria and grab a coffee.” She turned and walked out, heading back down the hall and turning by the elevators. Something caught her eye, and she looked into an alcove to see now acting President Mills…making out with her Secret Service agent.

“Oh holy fuck,” she said, and they both jumped. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Ms. Swan,” Regina said. “I…we…”

Emma shook her head. “Christ. Okay. Look, Ma’am.” And did that sound weird, addressed to someone who wasn’t Mary Margaret. “You’re a widow. Agent Hood is a widower. Seriously, this…vaya con dios. But tell a nurse you need to lay down and sleep a bit, and get them to give you a room that locks. The press could sneak down here.”

“Thank you, Emma,” Robin said, smiling. Then his face darkened. “I’m sorry about…”

“Not now, Robin,” she said, and turned, bypassing the elevator and jogging up the stairs.

She was in the cafeteria for about 10 minutes, waiting on a four shot espresso latte, when a hand clamped on her shoulder and she jumped nearly out of her skin.

“Sorry,” August said, and she turned to look on his face and he looked…destroyed. No, no, no…

She must have been saying it out loud, because August started babbling. “Fuck, no, Emma, there’s no change yet, Jesus Fuck sorry, I’m sorry….my fault, this is all my fault, I am so sorry.”

She reached up and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him hard. “August, breathe. What are you talking about?”

“I asked Phillip and Anton to change the protocol on the canopy.” He was breathing hard, and Emma found herself pushing him into a chair. “If I hadn’t they couldn’t have shot them.”

Emma sighed. “Oh, August.” She sat down and grabbed his hand. “If they hadn’t shot from above, they would have been in the crowd. There is no way you could have known, and they would have found a way.”

“I should resign…”He hiccupped and god, he looked young. All of them were so damn young.

“I will kick your ass if you do.” He looked up at that. “We have to stand for them now, and I am not doing this alone. So suck it up, August. We have bigger problems than your guilt.”

He laughed at that. “Sorry. I just…god, Em.”

Emma put on her game face and smiled fiercely. “We’ll get through this, Booth. We have too.” Because she really, really didn’t want to think what happened if they didn’t.

****

Emma had come back from the 3AM briefing feeling rode hard and put away wet to find the older doctor from earlier in the waiting room. “The President came through it beautifully. She will need to rest for a week to ten days, but I expect her to make a full recovery.”

David laughed, and clapped the man in a hug, then turned and pulled Emma to him, squeezing her tight. “Thank god,” he whispered into her hair.

Emma shoved him. “Go see your wife,” she said. When he had walked out to follow the nurse, she turned to the doctor. “Excuse me, is there any word on Mr. Jones?”

The man shook his head sadly. “No, but he’s with Victor Whale. He’s the best cardio-thoracic surgeon I have ever seen. He’s in good hands.”

“Thanks,” Emma said, softly. Then she turned. “I am going to go update the press quickly. I’ll be back.”

She hurried upstairs and popped in, announcing that the President was out of surgery and in recovery, and it was expected she would resume her office in the next forty eight hours. Then she headed back down.

On her way back from the stairs, she noticed a side door labelled chapel. Emma hadn’t believed in any sort of formal god since her fourth foster home, but she found herself drawn to it anyway. Pushing into the quiet room, she walked up and sat on one of the benches, looking at the abstract, backlit stained glass.

“So, if there’s someone up there? I need him back. You took Graham, and that nearly killed me. So please, just…let him be okay. Please?” Then she let her head fall, and she wept.


	5. Shibboleth

****

David grabbed her when she got back and pulled her down the hall into the private recovery room. Mary Margaret was sitting up in the bed. “Emma,” the President said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Emma closed her eyes for a moment, then walked forward and took her hand. “Because you needed to go and get taken care of, and I knew you wouldn’t if you knew.”

“Oh, Emma.” The woman squeezed her hand hard. “You know, I didn’t like Killian when Jefferson brought him onto the campaign. He seemed so cocky and laissez faire about everything. But then I watched him, and I read the words he wrote. And now I can’t imagine the place without him. I imagine it must be worse for you.”

She bit her lip to keep from crying, and just nodded. Just then, David came back with two nurses and Mary Margaret’s doctor. The older man looked at the two of them, and gave a little shake of his head. “I don’t like this, ma’am, but since you’re insisting.” The two nurses came over and unlocked the wheels on Mary Margaret’s rolling bed, while the doctor handed David her IV poll and grabbed her heart monitor.

“Where are we going?” Emma asked.

“We’re going to be with Killian,” the President replied. “He doesn’t have to be alone.”

She followed along as they pushed her boss down the hall and through a door. She was surprised to find herself in a glass walled hallway, looking into an operating room. Through the window in the light green tiled room, she could see people around a table, with monitors and equipment. With everything, she could just make out his pale face and the shock of his dark hair, her fingers itching at the memory of running her fingers through it to help him sleep a week ago. Under the table she could see a pile of bloody surgical sponges. Emma sat down heavily on one of the stools and just starred.

The older doctor, who had finally introduced himself as Doc Axelson, pressed a small button in the wall. “Dr. Whale, we’re here.”

The man working on Killian glanced up. “Excellent, Dr. Axelson. I love working with an audience. Good evening, Madam President.”

“Good evening, Doctor Whale.” Mary Margaret gave a small wave. “My husband and our press secretary Emma Swan are with me. How’s our man doing?”

Whale went back to his work, but kept talking. “I believe in being a realist Ma’am. Mr. Jones was brought in with a lot of blood loss, and he coded once early on.” Emma felt her head swim at that, and forced herself to take a deep breath. “We’ve transfused about fifty percent of his blood volume. Luckily, the bullet missed his heart and the major thoracic arteries. We found it, and it’s out, and we got all the bleeders now, and his lung has re-inflated. I’m going through carefully to make sure there isn’t any debris in his wound track. Then we’ll close him up.”

Mary Margaret was nodding, and Emma wondered again how many times she had done that for a soldier in the field. “Long range prognosis.”

Whale made a noise like a huffy child, blowing out air. “Please understand, Ma’am. I am VERY good at this.” That made the President chuckle. “Trauma’s tricky though. Sometimes we can do everything right in here, and the patient still doesn’t come out of recovery. However, Mr. Jones is young and strong. Assuming he wakes up, I think he’ll make a full recovery.”

The world tilted on its axis in that moment, and suddenly she was looking up into David’s worried face as Dr. Axelson squatted over her. “Miss Swan, did you strike your head during the event?”

“No, I don’t think so.” The doctor had out a small pen light and was shining it into her eyes.

The man tutted. “Well, it doesn’t appear you have a concussion. I suspect you need sleep and to eat something.” She started to make a noise of protest, but Doc chuckled. “I already know you aren’t leaving. So let’s get you a more stable chair, and a sandwich. Deal?”

She nodded, and the he left them with one of the nurses. She turned to see Mary Margaret looking at her hard. “What is it, Emma?”

“Killian pushed me down.” Her voice was a harsh whisper. “What if…it should have been me?”

It was David who responded. “So, you’d rather he was sitting here, watching them work on you?” She looked up surprised. “Emma, when you care about someone the way I believe he cares about you, you’d move heaven and earth to keep them safe. And no one’s at fault here except the shooters.”

She let David pull her into another hug, and then help her up into the chair the other nurse brought back. Together, they settled in for the long haul.

****

Hours later, Emma sat next his bed in recovery, her head lying next to his hand as she dozed. The President had been convinced to go back to her room next door and David was being driven by Phillip to meet Lieutenant Nolan at Andrews. Once he was out of surgery, Jefferson had come to see him, squeezing the hand not covered with IVs and monitors. He looked up at Emma with a pained expression. “I need to get Grace home.”

“I’m not leaving,” Emma replied. Regina’s press secretary, Eric, had arrived and had agreed to take over the briefings for the time being. He nodded to her, and squeezed her shoulder, then left her to it. The sun was up and streaming through the window when she felt something brush her hair. Turning her head, she found herself starring into a pair of groggy blue eyes. His fingers brushed her cheek, and she realized that tears had started streaming down her face. Then he made a face around the intubation tube.

“Hang on, I’ll get someone,” she said, sitting up and pressing the call button on the side of the bed. Within minutes, Dr. Whale and one of the nurses were there, checking his dressing and his vitals. Emma was kicked out for a minute while they pulled the intubation, replacing it with a nasal cannula. When she came back in, she approached the bed with a slight sense of trepidation.

He looked up at her, and a soft smile crossed his face. “Hello, love.”

Her hand was shaking as she reached out, brushing his unruly dark hair out of his face. “You are such an idiot. Why did you push me down?”

“Couldn’t stand the thought of a world without you in it, Swan.” His face was suddenly serious. “I’d go to the ends of the world for you, love. Or time.”

“So you thought it was a good idea to get shot and die on me? To let me watch as someone else I loved die in my arms?” Her voice was just a little hysterical.

He cocked his head at her. “Admittedly, it might not have been my most thought out plan.” Then she watched as realization dawned on him. “Lass, did you just say you loved me?”

“I know,” she said. “It surprised the hell out of me too.”

“Emma,” he breathed. Then he patted the bed next to him. “Come here.”

“And open your stitches?” She shook her head. “Yeah, no.”

He sighed that little sigh he had when exasperated with something. “Swan, I’ve been pining for you for two years. I promise not to endanger the doctor’s handiwork, but if I don’t get to hold you now, I think I may expire.”

Emma felt a chuckle burble up, and she stood, slipping her suit jacket and her shoes off, and then climbed up carefully onto the bed. Killian leaned over and gently pressed a kiss to her lips. “I can’t wait to get out of here, so I might do that properly.”

“Good form, then, Jones?”

“Damn straight, Swan.”

****

He was out of the office for almost a month. Emma had insisted that he recover at her place. So he was set up with her Netflix and HBO, his laptop and tablet, and a charming home health nurse named Aurora during the day. In the evenings, Emma would come home with food and they would talk over what was going on in the office, or watch a movie. Then they would go to sleep, waking curled around each other more often than not.

A bored Killian Jones was a dangerous thing, she discovered quickly. Within a week of being released, he had set up her assistant Ruby with the very eligible Dr. Victor Whale, and Emma was treated to endless details of ‘Victor said this,’ or ‘We’re going here for our date’. She came home that night and smacked him in the head with a pillow, and he just laughed.

A week later, he had made a second match, this time between Aurora and Phillip, who had come over on his day off to hang out and watch TV with Killian. The young agent had been struck dumb by the beautiful young woman, and now seemed to walk around in a happy daze most of the time. Emma came home that night and handed Killian a copy of _Fiddler on the Roof_. “You know, since you’re totally turning into the White House matchmaker.”

Three weeks in, he was going stir crazy, so she enlisted help, dressing him in a pair of loose track pants and a Harvard Law sweatshirt. August and Jefferson had arrived and helped him down to the car, then they drove over the bridge to Arlington. Stepping into the pub he had taken her to all those weeks ago, he’d been greeted by a standing ovation by the regulars and a “Welcome back, Killian!” banner over the bar. Sean had held them a large table near the stage, and while he still couldn’t drink yet, an evening spent with most of the senior staff, their assistants, and assorted significant others while his favorite band played put him in the best mood in weeks.

It wasn’t all easy. They both had nightmares, and the President, back on the job (and much, much friendlier with Regina), had insisted everyone speak to a counselor. And she had come home early the day word came down that a show down between FBI and Secret Services in a small town in West Virginia had resulted in the capture of the missing spotter, a man named Peter Lippan, who was the leader of a radical militia group called The Lost Boys. They held each other and breathed a long sigh of relief.

Finally, Whale cleared him for any and all activity. That night, they sat with a bottle of wine and take out pasta from Emma’s favorite neighborhood trattoria. “So…” he said. They hadn’t really talked about their confessions at the hospital, falling into a routine of recovery and companionship. They kissed gently on occasion, but it had seemed like their world was on hold over the past month. “I guess I can get out of your hair.”

Emma looked up sharply. “Oh.” It was quiet, and she was proud that her voice didn’t waiver. Then she saw his eyes, looking lost. “It’s just. Well. I’ve become accustom to your face. Around the apartment.”

Killian looked at her with something like hope on his face. “It would be messy, for the administration. Imagine the headlines, Swan?”

That made her laugh. “I think I can spin it. How about ‘Love out of Tragedy’?”

His face took on a look she remembered from when they danced a life time ago. “Or maybe, ‘True Love Conquers All’?”   Suddenly he stood up and drew her into his arms, his lips crashing down on hers. They stood, wrapped up and exploring each other for a long time, until air became necessary. “Swan…I want…”

“Jesus, yes,” she said, her hands slipping under his shirt to play with the hair on his chest. His lips came back to hers for just a minute before going to her ear, worrying the lobe with his teeth. She groaned. “Bedroom.”

“Absolutely.” He pulled away and took her hand, leading her back to the room with him. Once there, he reached forward, quickly undoing the buttons of her blouse and pushing it off her shoulders, then stopping to stare at the black lace bra she wore. “Gods, love, you are so beautiful.”

Her own hands came forward and scrabbled for purchase on the hem of his sweatshirt. He stilled, and then helped her, pulling it up on off, letting it drop to the ground. They both paused as Emma reached a finger out and traced the small, bright pink puckered scar. Her hand shook and suddenly, Killian covered it with his own, bringing his other hand to tilt her eyes up to his. “I’m here, love. I’m still right here.”

She nodded and let her hands run over him, finding that the chest hair she would notice when his tie was off at the office and he’d unbutton his shirt came down all the way, ending into a line that was disappearing into his track pants.

As she ran her nails against his skin, he moved his lips down, kissing along her jaw and then the column of her neck, nipping with his teeth and then soothing with his tongue, and enjoying the soft, breathy gasps she made. Her hands slipped lower, and he groaned as she cupped him through his pants, running her hand down his hard length.

“Emma, love, if you do that, this will be over before it starts, and I very much want to take my time with you,” he said, his voice strangled.

Her hand moved away for a second, but she tipped her head up to his ear. “I need you. All of you, in me. We can do slow later.” Then, her tongue her tongue brushed down the curve of his ear. “Please.”

“Christ,” he mumbled, and his hands moved, unhooking her bra and drawing it away, tossing it onto the floor. He picked her up and gently laid her on the bed, then climbed on, stretching it beside her. “What about…do we need…” His voice was rough as his hand ghosted over one breast, his fingers circling her taut nipple.

“I haven’t been with anyone since my last…I’m clean. And I have an IUD,” she murmured, her back arching into his touch. “You?”

“I’m clean.” And then his lips were on her, and she was keening, softly, under his assault, her fingers curling into his hair. Heat was coiling tightly at her core, making her writhe under him.

She brought one leg up, wrapping it around the back of his thighs and tugging him tighter against her, trying to get the friction she needed. Killian groan against her, his hand moving down to ruck up her skirt. Suddenly, he paused. “Is that a…Emma, are you wearing garters and stockings?”

“Yes,” she gasped as his fingers started brushing along the edge of the lace circling her thigh.

“Jesus, love, I’ll never get another thing done at the office,” he groan as his hand shoved her pencil skirt up above her hips, then slid down to brush against a scrap of damp silk. “You’re so wet for me, Swan.”

“Ugh…yes, please. Just…ohh…,” and then his hand was there, under the fabric, stroking softly up and down, ghosting over where she needed him most. Her hands came up and tugged at his pants and he pushed down with his other hand, wiggling out of them and leaving him fully exposed.

“Emma,” he breathed, sliding two fingers inside of her. “Love, are you…”

“Yes, please, Killian.” She sounded desperate and wanton and she didn’t care. She didn’t care in the slightest. “Please.”

His hands moved back down and with a quick jerk, her panties were ripped free. Then he was lining up and pushing in, and god, Emma could feel it, every inch of him as he slid home inside of her, filling her completely. He stilled for a moment, giving her time to adjust.

Her hips gave a little buck and it was like the thread holding his control snapped. He began to move, full, hard strokes in and out, the drag and pull of it everything as her body coiled tighter and tighter. After a few minutes, she pulled him tight against her and used her weight as leverage, flipping them over.

“Fuck,” he whispered as she rose above him, moving up and down with a twist of her hips, taking him even deeper into her. “Christ, Emma, love. You feel bloody brilliant.”

His own hips bucked up now to meet hers, and his eyes nearly rolled back as her hands came up, caressing her breasts, tweaking and pulling at her tight peaks. His own hand drifted up to the bundle of nerves where they had joined, and he felt her rhythm falter for a moment before speeding up, leaning slightly forward to ride his fingers and his cock at the same time.

Suddenly, she was flying, over the edge and gone as she rocked back and forth on him, the fluttering of her tight walls around him making him impossibly hard. As she seemed to collapse, he rolled them again, coming up above her and thrusting through the edge of her release until he felt his own mount at the base of his spine. One deep thrust, two, and he was falling after her, his vision whiting out at the edges. It took all his strength not to collapse on top of her.

He lay beside her, still buried inside the warmth of her, his face nuzzled into her neck. He smiled as her hand came up, carding through the short hairs at his the back of his head. “I love you, Swan. There is no getting rid of me now.”

Her eyes came down to meeting his, the green sparkling like sea glass. “Good.”

****

For the first six months, they kept both apartments, and there was a brief squabble over who was giving which up. However, Emma’s was nearly twice the size of Killian’s loft, and fifteen minutes closer to the office, so in the end, he let his lease go.

They were discrete, but when the press came calling, Emma released a prepared statement that they two of them were friends before Rosslyn, but that their relationship had blossomed. And that there would be no further comment from the White House regarding the personal lives of the President’s Staff.

Robin and Regina beat them to the punch, marrying quietly in her home state of Maine. Robin was forced to resign from the Secret Service, but joined Regina’s staff as a security advisor. He and his son Roland moved into One Observatory Circle, joining Regina and her son Henry.

Ruby and Dr. Whale went next, taking a long weekend in Vegas and coming back with matching gold bands on their fingers. Killian and Emma threw them an impromptu reception at the pub, which everyone greatly enjoyed.

Aurora and Phillip married in the autumn at a little church in Falls Creek, chosen for proximity to the bride’s hometown, and the ease with which security could be locked down to allow the President and David Nolan to attend. Killian was a groomsman and Emma was a bridesmaid. No one was the least bit surprised when Aurora practically threw the bouquet right at her.

They waited until after the reelection campaign, when the Nolan/Mills ticket again defeated Senator Gold and his running mate, a Kansas Congresswoman name Zelena West, by a land slide. On a warm, sunny Sunday afternoon, the senior staff gathered quietly for a private lunch in the Rose Garden; David Nolan walked the bride down the aisle, where a local justice of the peace waited with Killian and Jefferson. Ruby waited on the other side of the aisle.

Afterward, they ate barbeque and drank beers, listening to music from the President’s iPod. Emma rested her head on his shoulder, her white lawn dress lovely neck to his soft grey suit. “We live a very surreal life.”

“Aye love,” he said. “But if we didn’t, we’d never have met. Imagine the story we’ll tell the grandkids one day.”

Just then, Leroy took a call, and his face took on an increasingly grumpy cast. Sighing when he hung up, he looked at the two of them, and then the President. “No, really?” Mary Margaret said, sighing. “Never a quiet day.”

“Sorry, Ma’am,” he said. Nodding at Emma and Killian, he added, “Afraid this will need all hands on deck.”

Killian grumbled something about national crises and good form. Emma just laughed and leaned over, kissing him. “Come on, who needs a honeymoon when you have a country to run.”

Killian looked at her, a fond smile on his face. “As you wish, love.”


End file.
